Identity
by Katt9966
Summary: Things aren't always as they seem.
1. Default Chapter

Title: - Identity.

Author: - Katt.

Rating: - PG-13.

Feedback: - Like it or loathe it let me know.

E-mail: - kattanon@hotmail.com

Archive: - If you'd like it just let me know.

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Identity – Chapter 1.

Some days Captain David Aceveda hated his job, this was one of those days. The trouble with being the boss was that there were some tasks that you couldn't delegate, some things you just had to handle yourself. That was why he was waiting in his office for his secretary, Maria, to ask Claudette Wyms to come and see him. His eyes never left the door, his fingers nervously tapping on the desktop. Then through the glass he could see her approaching, he stood up, took a deep breath and steadied himself for what he had to do next, what he had to say.

A quick knock and Claudette entered closing the door behind her, her expression curious,

"You wanted to see me?" She asked.

"Um yes, please take a seat Claudette." David said.

He indicated the chair in front of his desk and paused long enough to let her sit first before he took his own seat. Clearing his throat he knew that it would be best if he just said what he had to say, but for a moment he let the silence hang between them. Suddenly he thought that if he didn't speak the words then they wouldn't be true, it was foolish he knew saying nothing wouldn't change the facts but at the moment his reality wasn't Claudette's. When the words left his mouth his reality would become hers, God he'd always hated breaking bad news it was the worst part of the job.

"Was it something important?" Claudette prompted, puzzled by Aceveda's silence.

A deep breath,

"There's no easy way to say this Claudette, but I've just got off the phone with Pasadena PD. It seems there was an accident early this morning…a car accident…I'm sorry Claudette but Dutch was killed."

He watched her face as he spoke the words, as soon as he'd mentioned the word accident she'd glanced towards the window, towards her and Dutch's desks. Of course he hadn't shown up for his shift and she'd immediately put two and two together. Her eyes widened at the words "…Dutch was killed." disbelief clear in every line of her face. She began shaking her head not believing what she'd heard,

"There has to be a mistake…some…some kind of mix-up." She stammered.

"I'm sorry but there's no mistake, Pasadena ran the plates and the car is Dutch's. They also found his badge in the wreckage." Aceveda told her hoping she wouldn't ask the question that he knew she would ask, not wanting to have to tell her the details of what had happened to her partner, her friend. Sure enough her next question was,

"What happened…did they say?"

"Yes…there were witnesses to the accident. It seems he was driving too fast and lost control of his car on a bend. It left the road and hit a tree…I'm sorry Claudette but it caught on fire, some by-standers tried to get Dutch out but he was trapped and the heat was just too much for them." 

Horror filled Claudette's face, as the full meaning of Aceveda's words sunk in,

"No…please don't tell me he was conscious…please don't tell me he burned to death."

David wished he could do just that, but that would mean lying and Claudette deserved better than that. Captain Jennings from Pasadena PD had told him everything, there had been half a dozen witnesses people who would suffer nightmares for the rest of their lives after what they'd seen and heard. 

"I'm so sorry." Was all he could say to her.

Pain and sadness were replacing the initial horror on her face. She looked down at the floor as tears began to spill over and chase each other down her cheeks. 

"I'll get us some coffee." David told her.

He opened the door to his office and stepped out, closing the door behind him to give Claudette some time alone. Seeing Maria he asked her to get him the coffee's while he stood outside his office gazing forlornly down at the empty desks below him. When she returned with the coffee's he asked Maria to get him Dutch's personnel file and to pass the word around that he wanted to speak to everyone in the briefing room in twenty minutes.

When he returned to the office Claudette had finished wiping her eyes with a tissue. She looked numb,

"Are they sure it's him…I mean what's he doing in Pasadena? Besides Dutch is a good driver, a careful driver."

He let her talk, grasping at straws not wanting to believe the harsh truth. There was a tentative knock on the door and Maria came in with the file he'd asked for. Glancing at Claudette and frowning at the expression on her face she held it out to him,

"Detective Wagenbach's file." She said.

"Thanks," David said. "If you could organize that meeting we spoke about."

"Of course," Maria said and left to spread the word.

"What are you doing?" Claudette asked.

"Pasadena asked me to contact his next of kin, so I need to see who he's listed in here to be contacted in the event of…of…" David left the sentence hanging as he turned to the appropriate page.

"His parents are listed, but they live back in Nebraska. I'll have to put a call through." He said with a sigh.

He asked his secretary to contact the police department in Dutch's home town of Scottsbluff and prepared to do what Captain Jennings had done to him, pass the buck, and get someone else to break the bad news.

When his phone rang he picked it up and was immediately connected with the Scottsbluff PD. He explained who he was and was put through to the shift commander there. With as little detail as possible he explained the situation and asked that someone be sent out to Dutch's parents home to inform them of his death, he added that he would phone them himself in a few hours time to offer his condolences and begin the process of arranging the funeral. He put the phone down when he'd finished and immediately Claudette said, 

"I want to go out to Pasadena and see for myself." Her tone determined, but David had anticipated this.

"I thought you might," He said. "I've told them that we'll both be arriving this afternoon."

Gratitude in her eyes she said,

"Thank you…I just have to see it to believe it."

"I know."

Glancing at her David stood,

"I thought it best if I told everyone before the rumor mill starts up, so I've called everyone together in the briefing room. I won't be long and as everyone will be there if you want to go out to my car it'll probably be the best time."

Nodding Claudette accepted David's car keys knowing she was in no fit state to be driving, and that she definitely didn't want to speak to anyone.

"Just give me a couple of minutes ok." He said.

"Ok," She replied a sad smile ghosting across her face.

It was quiet when he left his office the usual buzz of activity muted as everyone gathered in the briefing room waiting for him. As he made his way to the front and turned to face them he looked at the expectant, curious faces before him, Danny and Julian were there, Mackey and the Strike Team, various other detectives and uniforms all waiting to hear what he had to say. Again he took a deep breath before he began,

"I've asked you all here because I've got some sad news to tell you. I'm afraid that early this morning Dutch Wagenbach was killed in a car accident."

The surprised hush at his announcement was broken only by someone, it sounded like Shane Vendrell, saying,

"Aw shit."

David gave them a moment to absorb the news before he carried on.

"I understand that this has come as a shock but we still have our jobs to do, and I know that Dutch would want us to carry on to the best of our ability. I will be speaking to his parents later on today and I'll be passing along all of our condolences to them on their loss. I'll let you all know as soon as possible about the funeral arrangements." With that David moved swiftly through the room walking out into the sunshine and towards his car.


	2. Identity Chapter 2

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Identity – Chapter 2.

The John Doe in intensive care was hooked up to just about every machine it was possible to be hooked up to. A ventilator was breathing for him, his chest rising and falling to the steady rhythm it dictated. There were various pieces of equipment monitoring everything from his blood pressure, his oxygen saturation and his heart beat to his brain activity, and the pressure inside his skull. While several IV's delivered a cocktail of drugs and nutrients into his blood stream. He lay unmoving, and apparently completely unaware of his surroundings. His face was pale, the only colour in it a livid bruise on his left cheek where someone had hit him. He had a dressing that covered the left-hand side of his head, and the dark hair that escaped from under it had dried into stiffened strands clumped together by dried blood. John Doe was a lucky man; not many people got shot in the head and survived.

The police had been called to the car park of a late-night market where a man had been found, blood pooled around his head, as he lay on the cold ground. At first it had been assumed he was dead, until someone had finally bothered to bend down, and press two fingers to his throat. They'd quickly called for an ambulance when they'd been shocked to discover a weak, thready pulse present. The theory was that he'd been car-jacked. He was in his thirties dressed in a suit, but there had been nothing to identify him, no wallet, watch or keys. No doubt they had all been stolen along with his car. When the car-jacker had gotten everything he'd wanted he'd decided to kill him, why was unclear. Maybe he'd tried to put up a fight, or escape, whatever the reason the assailant had meant to kill him. Either he was a bad shot, or the man had moved at the last moment. Of course no one could dodge a bullet, but he could have moved enough so that it had stuck him a glancing blow, as opposed to a fatal one. It was still a million to one chance, but the bullet had gouged a furrow through John Doe's scalp as it had passed. The car-jacker must have thought he'd killed him, as John Doe would have dropped like a stone, blood everywhere from his head wound, and he hadn't hung around to check. Although not piercing his skull, the bullet had still caused significant damage. The velocity of the projectile fracturing John Doe's skull causing a sub-dural haematoma that had necessitated surgery. Although already in a coma from the wound, he was also being kept sedated, and closely monitored, his condition meant that he had to be kept as still and quiet as possible. At the moment he hovered in the twilight world between life and death, the balance of which could tip either way. If he lived it wasn't known if he'd ever wake up. If he woke up it wasn't known how much damage had been caused to his brain. It was possible that all that made him the person he was was gone, leaving behind only an empty husk.

Right now the police wanted to know John Doe's real identity. None of the missing person's reports for the Westwood district, where the market had been situated, had fitted his description. So either he lived alone, and no one had noticed he was missing yet, or he came from outside the district, and his missing person's report was being filed away somewhere else in the city.

There had been a double homicide, a fatal car accident, and two grocery store robberies that night, as well as John Doe's car jacking. This had meant an unusually busy night for the CSI's. Due to the backlog it was mid-afternoon before a CSI technician finally turned up at the hospital's intensive care unit to take John Doe's fingerprints, in the hope they'd throw up a match, and identify him.

Being careful of the various wires and needles the unconscious man seemed to be covered with, the technician quickly, and efficiently, took a set of ten perfect prints, and packed them away into his bag. By the time he got back to his lab, and ran them through the computer, if they were lucky, they'd have the poor guy's name by dinnertime.

Making sure he'd packed all his equipment away, he spared a look at the unknown man in the bed. Poor bastard, the guy really did look more dead than alive. The technician had read the incident report before coming here, and knew that there was a chance the guy would end up with brain damage. _"Shit," _he thought, _"I'd rather be dead than a vegetable or something." _He wondered if John Doe had any family. If someone, somewhere, was worried about him, wondering where he was. Those thoughts spurred him on to get back to the lab, and get the results for the fingerprints. At least then maybe the poor guy wouldn't have to be lying all alone surrounded by the cold, bleeping machinery, which was at the moment the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe he'd have someone who'd care enough about him to be there with him.


End file.
